


Posh Boy Is A Pig

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John is Not Amused, M/M, Sherlock is a Brat, early in the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:50:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10793577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Sherlock knows what John said, or does he?





	Posh Boy Is A Pig

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_am_lampy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/gifts).



> Brilliant series by I_am_lampy called After All These Years had a line about Sherlock being a posh boy pig. Pushed a button for me resulting in this silliness.
> 
> Check out AATY if you haven't, it is sweet smut.
> 
> As for the Boys, will they ever just TALK? We'll see.

"Ridiculous idiots, calling me here for utter nonsense!" Sherlock muttered as he paced around the chalk outline of the victim, not caring that he was talking to himself. He was well and truly pissed and didn't care who knew it.

 

John, of course, would tut tut at him with a gentle but firm admonition to behave. Well, he didn't WANT to behave. The two day experiment he had been minutes away from completing would now be a ruined gelatinous mess, and for what?!

 

"A nine at least Sherlock, maybe a ten," Lestrade had pleaded into the phone. A ten, pfft, not even a one. If it was possible for a murder to be a zero this was it. One thing that WAS a ten was the detectives temper. Right, he would find Gerald and tell him off, then collect John and go home.

 

Seething with anger, eyes narrow slits, he burst outside and caught sight of the small group gathered by the crime scene tape. It didn't improve his foul mood that John seemed to be enjoying a lighthearted conversation with both Lestrade and Donovan for God's sake. He'd put an end to that, and his lover would be receiving a good talking to back at Baker Street.

 

Just as he came within earshot John spoke up, "Yep! Posh boy is a pig. Hate to speak ill, but Christ, never seen anything like it. Feel like I've been in a barnyard after I'm done with him."

 

Sally's face grimaced as if a bad smell was under her nose, " Why in hell do you put up with it?"

 

John sighed, "Easy for you Sally, I can't just pick up and walk away. Where would I go?"

 

Greg nodded in agreement, "True enough mate, but can't something be done? Surely complaining would work."

 

"Not in my fucked up world. All I can do is tolerate it and try not to get any more involved. Afterall, it's not like it can get any worse. Well, no use crying about it, better get my amazing man and head off. Anyone seen himself?"

 

That last went unheard by Sherlock who, face burning and shoulders slumping, had hailed a cab and disappeared.

 

~~~***~~~

 

John had been perplexed at best to find Sherlock had gone. The doctor hadn't been abandoned at a crime scene since the early days. As Greg dropped him off with an invite for a pint, John found himself more worried that his lover was ill than he was aggravated at being left behind.

 

Inside the flat, Sherlock had created chaos. Stripping off his Belstaff, shoes, socks and all but his pants, the lanky man tossed everything in the air to land wherever it would. Struggling into his dressing gown he growled, "So, he thinks I'm a pig. He has no idea just how porcine I can be."

 

Walking into the aftermath of the "storm" John stared dumbly at the mess. "What's happened here then, a hurricane? Sherlock are you all right love?"

 

Sherlock flounced into the room every inch the injured party. "Obviously, why shouldn't I be?"

 

"For one, you stranded me at the crime scene, and two this room looks like you tore off your clothes in a frenzy."

 

"Very well, in response, first you seemed to have survived since you are here, and second, how I undress is none of your concern."

 

John grinned as he hung up his jacket, "Not what you said last night as I recall. Seemed you were very interested in my participation in undressing you, git."

 

"That's quite vulgar John. Surely even an idiot like you can understand my fury over my ruined experiment."

 

Momentarily stunned, the blogger recovered and tried to be comforting. "I know it's disappointing Lock, but you should be chuffed all the same that in minutes you proved a police ten was a Holmes one on the homicide scale."

 

"Yes, quite thrilling to have the advantage over a herd of mindless imbeciles. The highlight of my boring day."

 

"Then let's just put it behind us and have a happier night, eh? I can cook or we can order take away, maybe Thai or those dumplings you like so much."

 

"Not hungry. Gluttony is not one of my vices despite your impression of me." 

 

John actually guffawed, "Gluttony, you, mister I can live on a puff of air and a water cracker? Not bloody likely, but at least have a biscuit and tea or a piece of fruit. I'll make tea."

 

Minutes later, tea in hand, John was confronted by a sight that was midway between hilarious and horrifying. Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa on his stomach his chin proped up on one of the sofa arms. In his mouth was a shiny red apple.

 

Accustomed to odd behavior from Sherlock, John just smiled. "Now what are you playing at you goose. You look like a roast suckling pig fresh off the spit."

 

Blushing bright red, Sherlock sat up and tore the apple from his teeth. "Please be kind enough to make a selection, John, animal or bird. I can't be both."

 

John raised his hands in surrender, "I'm going to say now that you win Sherlock since I have no idea what we're even talking about at this point. Eat or don't, you're a big boy."

 

"Oh, now I'm a boy. I hope you realize then, that a boy has no place in your bed tonight Doctor Watson. I will entertain myself by trying to resurrect my experiment. If you require food, please dine elsewhere. Goodnight!"

 

Sherlock stomped into the kitchen closing the partition behind him leaving a befuddled and somewhat miffed John alone.

 

~~~***~~~

 

Waking up to a cold empty bed the next morning, John hoped his mad boyfriend was over whatever had grabbed hold of him last night. That hope was dashed when he entered the sitting room only to find what seemed to be the contents of their entire laundry hamper strewn around the room including the light fixtures on the ceiling.

 

He stormed into the kitchen only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of his lover sitting at the table eating. At least John supposed the object was to eat. However Sherlock seemed to be "wearing" more food than he was eating, and what did go into his mouth was pocketed in his cheeks making him look like a tall, thin, pale chipmunk.

 

"What the hell?"

 

"Ah Jouwn, sthe yu r uppp." The partially chewed food stuck to his tongue as he spoke, and the last burst of ppp's showered John's jumper and chin with bits of mushy scones with strawberry jam.

 

"Shit Sherlock! At least close your mouth while you chew, and don't talk with your bloody pie hole full."

 

Sherlock swallowed a huge bite and smirked, "Something wrong John?"

 

"Wrong, besides the fact that I'm now wearing half of your breakfast on my clothes and face. Dammit Lock, you're not an animal. Speaking of which, what have you done to our sitting room? Explosion on the way to the washing machine?"

 

"Sorry, I'm not following. Explain."

 

John grabbed a sinewy arm and pulled. "Have a look genius. Socks on the ceiling, vests and shirts on the floor, and are these your pants on my chair? Where I drink my tea, and Jesus is that..." 

 

John dropped the white y fronts as if they were scalding hot. "When was the last time you even wiped your... no, nevermind. Just clean this up and while you're at it, take a shower. Maybe several showers, you smell like a..a"

 

"Barnyard is perhaps the word you're searching for Sir?"

 

John's anger sizzled. Usually Sir was a teasing phrase meant to initiate sex, THIS spoke only of distain. "That word will do nicely ta. I'm going to clinic, you have eight hours to put this right or.."

 

"To the slaughterhouse Captain?"

 

"The...listen to me Sherlock, I don't know what has put your head up your arse, but pull it out before I get home. I mean it!"

 

~~~***~~~

 

John stewed the entire day, angry and even more upset that he was really clueless. Finally he headed home not bothering with hoping for the best.

 

As he entered 221B he found Mrs.Hudson wringing her hands and in quite a state. "Oh John dear, thank heavens you're home. Sherlock has lost his mind."

 

"Calm down Mrs.Hudson. What's happened?"

 

"I came out to find ALL your laundry at he bottom of the stairs, and the racket he was making. I went up to see about him and he's covered himself with,... I mean he put a small flannel over his bits and bobs when I came in, but he's starkers and smeared with... Oh John it's ghastly. Honestly at my age and with my hip. It isn't decent. Really it isn't."

 

"I'll sort him out Hudders, I promise. Just go have a soother."

 

"Screw that John, I'm getting out the gin!"

 

~~~***~~~

 

Upstairs he found Sherlock sprawled in his chair naked as predicted and covered in..."Sherlock, what the fuck have you smeared on yourself, is that toxic?"

 

"Ever the caring doctor. Toxic, hardly, just following your instructions of this morning. You told me to bathe, so as befitting my character, I've wallowed in a mud bath. To be accurate, the logistics of a tub filled with mud was not really an option. However, the local spa was able to provide me with several professional size containers of mud pack cream. It promises to make me "squealy" clean. Rather messy though, but what can you expect from a member of the Suidae family?"

 

"Squealy clean? And why are you nattering on about hogs. For fuck's sake."

 

"Who would know better than you John?"

 

"Damned near anyone as far as I can tell. One thing I DO know, whatever the fuck this shit is stops now. Shower, right this minute Sherlock bloody Holmes."

 

Once in the loo, John adjusted the water and began to strip. "Get under that spray brat!"

 

"You're not getting sex from me, John HAMISH Watson, so don't bother."

 

"Sex, with you. Have you seen yourself? No, just no. What I AM getting is my own back. Get under that water." The firm smack landed to the naked arse was less satisfying than expected due to the splatter of mud that flew back on John, but the indignant yelp was it's own reward.

 

Still in his pants, John got in the shower with Sherlock, grabbed the bath brush and started scrubbing. It wasn't long before the bad attitude of his lover gave way to dismay.

 

"John I won't have any skin left if you carry on like this. I am quite capable of cleansing myself."

 

"You're clean when I say you're clean. Shut up and be glad I'm not using a scrub brush, and that you get to clean the family jewels and vault yourself, you irritating child."

 

Finally convinced Sherlock would pass inspection, John tossed his lover a towel and then dried himself off. Going out to the bedroom he came back in dry pants with another warm towel for Sherlock.

 

The younger man's skin was rosy pink all over and he almost glowed. Despite his aggravation, John felt his resolve slipping away. The famous Sherlock strops were infrequent of late, and the ex-soldier was determined to find the cause of this one.

 

"Now, we're going into the bedroom where I'm going to put some of that ridiculously expensive moisturizer on you so you don't chafe. Then, you are going to tell me exactly what the hell has gotten into you. Go!" Spurred on by another firm smack, Sherlock dashed to their bed.

 

~~~***~~~

 

After indulging his boyfriend with a light massage, Captain Watson began to lecture. "Sherlock, I know you think I can be tremendously stupid, but in this case I will admit to it. I am clueless as to why a posh boy like you would do any of this."

 

Sherlock stiffened under John's hands. "And there it finally is Sir."

 

"There WHAT is Sherlock? Dammit tell me."

 

"I heard what you said to Donovan and Geordie."

 

"What I said when? What did I say?"

 

"Don't pretend you don't remember. I heard you and you laughed. Told them you just had to put up with it and not get more involved. I HEARD you say it."

 

"Say what?!"

 

"Posh boy is a pig!"

 

For a moment John's expression was blank, then he began to laugh from his toes on up. "You giant arse. All this is about THAT? You are the idiot, not me."

 

"I'm glad you find this amusing. I would never say something that hurtful about you to others."

 

John forced Sherlock to look in his eyes, "And you honestly believe I would? Seriously?"

 

"Then how can you explain speaking about me like that John?"

 

"By saying I wasn't talking about you. If you had come out with us instead of pouting at the crime scene you would have heard Greg tell me they had a run-in with my new supervisor at Bart's, Dr.Morrison. If you recall, unless you've deleted it, he's the son of one of the big tossers in Parliament. Supposedly Morrison is so posh he walks on water. Truth is his clothes are as filthy as his mouth, and his "lady friends" get paid by the hour. THAT is who I was taking the piss at. Not you Einstein."

 

Looking through wide eyes, lower lip trembling, Sherlock whispered, "Really? Promise?"

 

John gathered him up in a loving hug and kiss. "Oh you gorgeous thing you. How could you even think I would do that. I love you more than my life, even when you ARE being impossible. Shame on you. By the way if you're a pig, I reckon that makes me the hog. Hmm, had a mud bath, what's left?"

 

Without warning, John flipped Sherlock over on his front pulling him to his knees, arse in the air. Parting the plush cheeks, he began to bury his nose in between them snorting merrily.

 

"John what, oh God, John what are you doing?"

 

Never stopping John chuckled, "I'm digging for truffles."

 

~~~***~~~

 

Downstairs, fortified with gin, Mrs.Hudson gathered up the debris, tried to ignore what sounded like a squealing piglet and sighed. 

 

"Those two are at it again, and I'm left with the dirty laundry. Might as well face it Martha, you love them, but the posh boy and his blogger are pigs."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Teddy(lampy) for the inspiration and hope you all enjoyed. Kudos and comments make me as happy as a pig in a trough full of Chinese take away. :)


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